Marius stood outside her door, half-ready to knock, knowing nothing good could come of it. She hadn't come out of her room for the past four days. Cosette left food right outside the door at regular intervals, and it remained untouched. Sometimes at night he could hear her pacing around, walking back and forth all night, only finally going to sleep early in the morning, and then waking up only a few hours later and continuing pacing.
Almost instantly regretting his decision, he knocked on the door, then turned the doorknob.
She was sitting at a chair in front of the window, her eyes closed, but she wasn't asleep.
"Hi," he said awkwardly.
"Go away," she whispered, turning away.
"Cosette's worried about you. And honestly, so am I."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
"You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"Or sleeping."
"I was sleeping this morning."
"Eponine, you have to eat, or you're going to starve to death."
She shrugged. "That's fine."
"Eponine!"
"Everyone else is dead."
"You're not!"
She shrugged at that. "Just leave me alone."
"We're all worried about you," he said, anger beginning to grow. "I know it's been a really, really bad few months, but you don't get to just shut down and stop living because people are dying."
"It's not just people!" she shouted. "You say people like it's nobody. It's everyone! The entire group is dead. Elena is dead. Azelma is dead. My father's gang is dead. My father is dead. Grantaire is dead. Gavroche is dead! Enjolras -" Her voice broke, tears beginning to glimmer in the corners of her eyes. "Enjolras is dead."
"I know," he said quietly. "Eponine, I know. And I know it's bad. I know it's horrible, because they were my friends too; you know that. But you have to keep living."
"I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You have Cosette, you have your grandfather, you have people who need you. I have nobody. There's nobody left for me. There's nothing left. If I died, how many people would notice?"
He shook his head. "We'd notice, Eponine, and it would be sad and terrible, and you don't get to die, do you understand? That's not what any of those people would want, especially not Enjolras. You have to keep going."
She shook her head. "Get out."
"Eponine..."
"Please," she whispered, and her voice was so heartbroken that he couldn't help but take pity on her. "Please. Just leave me alone."
He shook his head and left, closing the door behind him.
Eponine stared out the window. It was dark, the sky black and dotted with a thousand stars. It had poured all day, finally clearing up to reveal a sunset that made the city look as if it were burning.
She unlatched the window, sliding her coat over her shoulders. The pin, medal, and locket were still in her pocket, clinking against each other as she slipped out the window into the night.
For four days, it had been worse than when Gavroche and Grantaire had died. Her vengeance had killed Enjolras. Everyone that she loved was dead. The only person left that was even mildly close to her was Marius, and even was no longer close to her.
She didn't want to live anymore. If Enjolras had never killed Brujon, he would still be alive. If she hadn't lost track of where everyone was, he would still be alive. If she had been watching, Enjolras would still be alive. No matter how she looked at it, his death was on her hands. She didn't want to live with that anymore. She couldn't live with that anymore. She had been in love with him, something that she hadn't been able to admit to herself until four days ago, and now he was dead, and it was her fault.
She stood in front of the river. The water was rushing past her, fast and deadly, a current that would trap her and never let go. Hesitantly, she bent down and picked up a rock from the bank. It was large and round, heavy. She put it in the pocket of her coat, her heart pounding. This was real; this was happening. She found another rock, and another, and another, until her pockets were ready to tear from the weight. She took the tie out of her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders, and wrapped it around her hands, binding them together, even as tears poured down her face and regret filled her.
She stepped into the water, letting it lap over her ankles. The sky above her was black and cold, the stars like eyes, watching her movements. She took a long breath and kept walking.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and let it wash over her.
Instantly, she fought against the current. To let the water fill her lungs and drown her went against every instinct in her body. She didn't want to die, and yet she did, because there was nothing worse than staying her and feeling herself die slowly. She looked up. There was nothing but blackness. The edges of her vision began to blur. She fought, not wanting to surface, but hating the burning feeling as her lungs began to run out of air.
Her last sight was of the stars.
